


All The Beauty Seen

by spindlekiss



Category: Misfits
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Arse-holes In Love, Intentional Voyeurism, M/M, Nathan Is Offensive, Nathan is his own warning, Non-Consensual Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-01
Updated: 2016-08-01
Packaged: 2018-07-28 14:41:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,660
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7644979
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spindlekiss/pseuds/spindlekiss
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Simon thinks that Nathan has a beautiful mouth, until he opens it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All The Beauty Seen

1

Simon likes to look at him. Likes the way his hair curls about his ears and the way his full lips round out around words. The picture, he has come to realise, is pretty. The subsequent noise? Less so.

To look at Nathan is to see an elegance that most artists would have died to capture, impish features and wild beautiful eyes, like some sort of faery creature from a stranger world. 

So yes, Simon likes to look at him, until he opens his mouth.

“So we were doin’ it, right? And I’m telling you, she was fucking fantastic, world class shag, a true banshee between the bedsheets. And then it happened.”

“What?” Alisha asks, without looking up from her phone.

“Well,” Nathan says, pausing for dramatic effect. Simon zooms in on his mouth. “Well, then she pulled out a blood bag, proper medical type thing, and asks me if I’d like to ooze out of more than one orifice.”

“Gross.” says Curtis.

“I know right! But I’m too far gone to think about it, like really, really too far gone. Thighs twitching, ready for the grand finale, and so I just say, babe, I’d ooze out of any orifice for you.” 

“That’s disgusting.” Kelly says, eyeing Nathan with disgust. 

“It’s not!” he exclaims loudly, grinning from ear to ear. “Let me tell you, it was a bloody fantastic orgasm. There I was, thrusting into her like I was after a prize--” he mimics the action. “--And right before both of us come, she jabs a needle in me elbow vein and starts taking blood!”

“Why the fock, would ya let someone take ya blood? You fockin idiot.” Kelly snaps. 

Nathan flops down into one of the armchairs and crosses his legs loosely. “I think you know why.” he says with a wink, before closing his eyes and grinning in remembrance. 

Simon swallows nervously and feels his adams apple bob. Turning off the camera in his phone, he snaps it shut and slides it into his pocket. 

He loves to watch Nathan. Hearing Nathan speak is another matter entirely.

 

2

They’re out on the roof again. Alisha is sunbathing and listening to music. Her legs are stretched out, resting on Curtis’ back. He is doing careful push ups. Simon can see the muscles in his arms straining.

“Three hundred and two.” Curtis pants out. “Three hundred and three. Three hundred and four.”

“Twenty seven.” says Nathan as he comes through the door and squeezes in next to Alisha.

“Don’t push me, arsehole.” she snaps, lifting her sunglasses to glare.

Nathan ignores her. “Ten. Five hundred. Three hundred and eighteen.”

“Three hundred and six.” says Curtis. “Three hundred and seven.”

“Three hundred and seventeen. Three hundred and six! Three hundred and twenty nine.” shouts Nathan.

“Three hundred and thirty.” says Curtis. “Fuck you, prick!” he adds angrily, before slumping to the ground. 

“I’m just trying to help you improve on your focus, Curtis. You need to be focused if you ever want to qualify for those athletic events you’ve been banned from.”

“Shut up.” Curtis says tiredly.

Simon switches on his camera, and follows the action. 

“I can’t, it’s a condition.”

“It’s a condition alright.” mutters Curtis darkly.

“Sorry, did I say condition? I meant miracle. It’s a miracle, a mother-fucking miracle.”

“Let’s go.” Curtis says to Alisha.

“Alright, where are we going?” Nathan asks excitedly. “Tell you what, I could use a drink, and maybe a shag. Hydrate before I gyrate.” Nathan mimics the action again, it’s an act they have all grown over familiar with.

“I meant Alisha.” says Curtis. “We’re going on a date.”

“Well don’t let me stop you.” says Nathan. “Three is a crowd right? And crowds are fantastic.”

Curtis and Alisha both roll their eyes simultaneously. It is not difficult to see why their relationship works. Simon smiles to himself.

“Yeah. I’m going to go see if we have any actual community service work today.” says Kelly. “I’m not getting my arse burned just because you lot are slacking.”

The three of them leave to their various vices, and Simon and Nathan are left alone.

Nathan, as is typical, has not yet realised that Simon is there. What follows should not be a surprise. Simon’s camera is still running when Nathan leans back in the chair more comfortably, unbuttons his jump-suit, and sticks his hand down his pants. 

Simon can hear him breathing. It’s loud, like most things that are a part of Nathan.

The camera is rolling. Simon walks forward quietly, and notes that Nathan’s eyes are still shut. 

Nathan’s mouth is slack, Simon imagines himself biting down on the bottom lip, until there’s blood. 

He steps forward again, and Nathan groans. Simon freezes instantly, but Nathan still does not look up. From where he stands now, Simon can zoom in and capture almost everything-- the almost indecent way Nathan rolls his hips, the tip of his cock: fleshy top poking out of the jumpsuit, and even the flush along his collar bones and neck. He is wearing a loose black singlet, and Simon is almost too aware of the fact that if it is pulled any lower he might catch a glimpse of Nathan’s nipples. 

Apparently, he is too fascinated, because without thinking, he steps forward one more time, and cringes as his foot lands upon a leaf. It crackles as it is squashed beneath his shoe. Nathan looks up just as Simon disappears.

“You pervy bastard.” Nathan says in a low voice. He pulls his hand from his pants quickly and wipes his palm on his thigh.

Simon says nothing. 

“I always knew you wanted a piece of this, Barry.” Nathan says, gesturing down at the length of his body. He is smirking, like the cat that got the cream. Simon can see the way his jumpsuit still tents around his crotch. His mouth goes dry.

“My name is not Barry.” Simon says. 

Nathan’s head turns quickly towards the sound. “Oh, isn’t it?”

“No. It’s Simon.” as you very well know, Simon thinks but does not say. At least, you should.

“It’s a funny thing.” Nathan says wonderingly. “I don’t see anyone around here by the name of Simon.”  
Simon, who is still invisible, walks towards Nathan carefully, but does not reply. 

Nathan looks around wildly. “Barry, are you still here?”

Simon creeps forward. 

Nathan jumps up from the seat. “Barry? Barry!? Oh, fuck you, fucking prick. Simon? Simon, are you still here?”

Simon is standing almost directly in front of him. And it’s odd, watching the way that Nathan’s eyes see straight through him. From up this close, they look greener than usual, and Simon can see the few freckles that dot his cheeks lightly, daintily. He exhales. 

“Got you!” Nathan yells triumphantly, grabbing out. He manages to get a hand around Simon’s bicep and tug him closer before tackling him to the ground. 

“You little pervert.” Nathan says. “You weren’t going to say anything, were you? And don’t think I didn’t see that camera phone.” he feels around Simon’s invisible chest until he can feel the phone in Simon’s breast pocket. His eyes light up. “Bingo.”

“No,” says Simon. “Don’t!” 

Nathan continues to hold him down, one hand around Simon’s wrists, the other, going through the mobile. “Sorry, Barry. I just don’t fancy having you share my porno around with your paedophile ring.”

“I’m not a paedophile.” says Simon determinedly. 

“That’s what a paedophile would say. Oooh, I look handsome. I’m flattered, Barry. Truly I am, but this one has to go. Delete.”

The phone dings and Nathan drops the phone onto Simons chest. 

“Can you get off me.” Simon says. 

“What? Really? You should be loving this. Most people don’t get to be so up close and personal with a sex god.”

“You’re not a sex god.” says Simon resolutely. “You’re not even a normal god.”

“You wound me. And you’re wrong. I’m immortal, and stunningly attractive. If that doesn’t qualify me as god-like then the whole idea of gods is horse-shit.”

“You’re not--”

“What, stunningly attractive?”

Simon says nothing.

Nathan laughs. “Oh, this is incredible. Thankyou, Barry. I’ve never felt so warm and fuzzy in my short life. I’ve also never felt so objectified by the homosexual community, but beggars, yeah?”

“Are you a beggar then?” 

“Ooh, sassy. I hear that’s a common trait among your kind.”

“I’m not gay.” Simon says.

Nathan grins knowingly, and lowers his face until his forehead rests on Simon’s. “Then I suppose that’s just an oddly phallic shaped pizza digging into my hip. Don’t know why you’ve got a pizza down your trousers, Barry. But I suppose we can’t all use a fridge.”

Simon is mortified. Now that Nathan has pointed it out, it’s sort of impossible not to notice the fact that his cock is hard, and pressed firm up against Nathan’s thigh.

He must make some sort of panicked sound, because Nathan laughs. “Don’t worry, I’ve seen worse than your invisible boner.” he turns thoughtful. “Then again, I might change my tune if I ever see your invisible boner. Can’t imagine what sort of things you’ve got going on down there, pervert.”

Simon pushes Nathan away roughly, and while Nathan is spluttering, legs it down the fire escape. 

He halfway home before he realises that he has left his mobile behind. 

 

3

The thing is, Simon is strong. Sometimes he doesn’t look it, but he exercises regularly and eats well. He could’ve easily pushed Simon, who is about as strong as a leaf in the wind, away from him any time he wanted to. But he didn’t. And he is still analysing why. 

It doesn’t matter. The next morning, he wakes up, as usual. Goes for a run, as usual. Gets ready, as usual, and then prepares himself precisely half an avocado on multi-grain toast before walking down to the community centre. These are the same things he does every week-morning, the only difference, the only deviance from routine, is that he did not put his phone into his pocket. 

Because either Nathan has it, or it is still on the roof. There is damning footage on that phone, and right now, while he isn’t thinking straight, he can’t tell what would be worse-- for someone to find his phone, and thus the evidence needed to uncover the probation workers, or, for Nathan to have kept the phone, perused it, and gathered enough material to mock him the rest of his life.

There are also, though his does not bear thinking about, a lot of videos of Nathan on that phone. 

Videos that are too honest and clear for their meaning to be misinterpreted. Videos that focus on his lips when he speaks, his hands when he gesticulates, and his body when it moves. Simon had hardly thought about it, at the time. But upon reflection he is starting to realise that the ratio of Nathan to Alisha-Kelly-Curtis footage, is rather heavily weighed. 

It is not Simon’s fault that Nathan is interesting. Nevertheless, this is not something he would like to admit to Nathan, whose arrogance is long past obnoxious.

Nathan dies more than anyone else Simon knows, and he would like to pass this off on the fact that Nathan is the only immortal person he knows, but he is almost certain that had he or any of the others been given an immunity from death, they still wouldn’t have made such a regular habit of it.

When Simon arrives at the community centre, walks down the hall towards the locker rooms, and hears the laughter from within, he realises that he should have known better. He was a fool to hope. When he enters the room fully, all four of them, his friends, are standing around his phone. And laughing.

Simon’s gut clenches, and he feels numb. The betrayal shouldn’t sting so hard. He should be used to it.

He walks closer. 

“I remember that!” Kelly exclaims. “Well sick.”

“Do you remember that, Curtis?” Alisha asks.

Curtis, who is usually quite solemn, laughs. “Hell yeah. That day was sick.”

“I think I’m going to be sick.” says Nathan. “I just reveal to you evidence of Barry’s perverted mind, and none of you give a fuck? Well thanks a whole twatty bunch.”

“Nathan, stop pickin’ on him, yeah?” Kelly says.

Simon smiles a little, before coming to stand by the group. “What are you laughing at?” he asks.

“Your ugly shark face.” Nathan replies, before hastily snatching the phone away from Alisha.

“Give it back.” says Simon.

“What’ll you give me?” Nathan asks. He licks his lips crudely.

“Nothing. Give it back.”

“No. I don’t think I will.”

Kelly folds her arms. “Just give it back you fockin’ wanker. Or I’ll rip your cock off and feed it to my monkey.”

“Technically, it’s a gorilla.” says Nathan.

Kelly lifts a fist threateningly. Nathan throws the phone back to Simon so quickly that Simon barely has time to catch it. In fact, he doesn’t. It rebounds off his forehead and Kelly punches Nathan in the stomach in retaliation.

“Stop pickin on Simon!” she says. “I’ve told you a thousand times.”

Simon, who could stand up for himself if he wanted, finds that he is rather warmed by her defence o him. Nathan only laughs. “I gave him his phone back, what more do you need?”

“Err, stop being such a fuckin twat, migh’ be a good starting point.” Kelly says.

“It doesn’t matter.” says Simon. “We’re late.”

And so they are, the new probation worker is leaning against the door-frame with a bored look. “You lot, outside, quick smart, yeah?”

“Or what?” Nathan challenges.

“Or I’ll have to fill out paperwork. You know how much I hate paper work. It can make me... cross.”

Nathan makes an ugly face. The probation worker rolls his eyes. “Next time I see you little pricks, I hope for your sake it’s outside, with paint-brushes.” 

When he leaves, Nathan throws him a rude gesture before turning to look at the group. “How is it, that we haven’t murdered this one yet?”

Curtis looks around the room wildly. “Say it louder, prick. I don’t think he heard you.”

Nathan smirks. “HOW IS IT THAT--”

“Shut up!” Curtis and Kelly cry in unison.

“I’m getting mixed signals here, guys.” 

“We need to go.” says Simon, looking at his watch. He quickly fastens his jumpsuit before walking out the door. 

Kelly follows him, and the others follow Kelly. 

 

4

There was one time, that Nathan kissed Simon. Back when Nathan had thought he was in love with Simon, and Simon had thought it was too good to be true. He’d been proven bitterly right when they discovered the tattoos.

Still, he remembers the kiss. Simon had been in the locker room, and Nathan had ran in, looking distraught. Upon caching sight of Simon his eyes had lit. “Simon!” 

Nathan ran towards him, Simon noticed that the taller boys eyes were glassy. “What’s wrong?” he asked.

Nathan, who Simon had never heard indicate feelings other than smug arrogance and lust, sniffled a little, before teetering forward into Simon’s arms. He bent a little, and leant his head in the crook of Simon’s neck.

“Err,” said Simon. “You shouldn’t be doing this. If you were in your right mind, you wouldn’t be doing this.” 

He had never thought he might miss Nathan’s obnoxious swagger. Nathan mumbled something into Simon’s collar.

“What?”

“You smell nice,” said Nathan. “Clean. I just had a chat with me dad. Good times.”

“Oh.” said Simon, not quite sure where to put his hands. Nathan was still leaning all over him, pliant and slim. 

“Everything is so terrible.” said Nathan. “You’re the only one I can trust, Simon.”

“It’s the tattoos talking.” replied Simon sternly.

“You smell so good.” 

Simon felt the tips of his ears go hot. It was nice to be complimented, even if the complimenter had lost some of his inhibitions. Maybe especially if.

Then Nathan looked up at him, with wide, contradictorily innocent eyes. “Can I kiss you?” he asked.

Simon, caught, paused too long. Nathan smiled hopefully, and Simon couldn’t help it, he gave a stuttered nod and closed his lips. Then Nathan was on him, hands running up Simon’s sides frenetically, body curled around Simon, lips prodding at his softly, once, twice, three times, and then Simon finally opened his mouth and they lost themselves.

When Alisha slammed the door open, complaining loudly about some fuck-wit thing Curtis had said over the weekend, they broke apart hastily. And never spoke of it again.

 

5

Time passes, and for the most part, Nathan doesn’t joke about what Simon is referring to as The Phone Incident. Then one day, they all troop into the locker room, where it seems most things go down, to find it already occupied, by both Nathan and an older man whose presence seems to fill the space.

They are yelling at each-other. Loudly.

“Well that’d just great, dad,” Nathan yells, he draws the words out mockingly.

“Your mother and I love each other very much,” the man, Nathan’s father, placates. “It’s just been complicated.” 

“Oh, complicated. The astonishing fucking complexity of you leaving us is frankly too much to comprehend. I imagine it makes complete sense to other people, why after being such a fucking dick you’ve decided it’s a wise move to walk back into our lives like nothing ever happened.” the tone is cutting, Nathan’s father only sighs.

“But son,” he says. “It’s not really ‘your lives’ is it, your mum told me this morning that you haven’t seen her in months. And you’ve been moved out for nearly a year now.” 

“Dad, has it escaped your fucking attention that I’m a homeless?” 

Nathan’s father turns stern. “Your mum told me she said you could move back in.”

“He said she said. Honest to god, I’d prefer she was still dating the dog. At least he knew to take his shit outside, but you, oh no, not you. You have to shit all over the place. Everywhere you go, it’s like a trail of steaming shit follows after you. How does it feel to be the literal human equivalent of a bulimic vacuum?”

“What-- you do talk some shit. I’m done with you, this was a courtesy call, not a trial. What happens between your mother and I is none of your business. I’ll see you... later.”

“Sure,” sneers Nathan. “Later.”

Nathan’s father leaves. The locker room falls to silence. Nathan looks up at them all. “Well, if you lot are all done eavesdropping, I have a car to piss in.”

Nathan saunters out the room, looking as though he doesn’t have a care in the world. Only the barely perceptible shake in his hand tells Simon otherwise.

“Well,” says Curtis. “Shit.”

That, thinks Simon, pretty much sums it up.

It takes him less than a second to decide he should follow Nathan, he doesn’t fancy the idea of Nathan walking about town in such a volatile mood. He comes across them in the car park, Nathan has his dick out and is urinating into the boot. His father is sitting in the front seat, speaking with someone on a mobile phone. He hasn’t noticed. 

Simon watches on in fascinated horror as Nathan’s father hangs up his call, and glances in his rear-view mirror, then lets out an appalling string of curse words. Some things do run in families.

Nathan’s father jumps out of the car quicker than Simon would have predicted he could move, and puts his son in a head-lock. 

“What the fuck are you thinking? I can’t afford another fucking bill, Nathan!”

He slams his son up against the car and grabs his wrists. Nathan fights back sort of desperately to no avail, he’s sort of a shrimp. And, like most of them, too used to Kelly throwing their punches for them. Simon walks forward slowly, almost unconsciously, he has taken out his phone and has started to film.

Nathan manages to pry an arm loose, and almost scrappily, he spins out of his fathers grip and punches him on the nose. “Fuck!” Nathan’s father yells.

“Fucking shit!” Simon follows, he’s clutching at his hand. “You broke my fucking hand!”

“Fuck you!” 

“Fuck you too!”

Nathan’s father grabs him again, quickly, and lays into his gut. Nathan coughs, and blood comes out.

It’s shaping up to be a full on brawl, Simon steps in.

“Stop,” he says calmly. “Or I will send this video to the police.”

“Barry!?” Nathan exclaims, his eyebrows are high and his face is painted with betrayal.

“And who the fuck are you?” Nathan’s father is asking. 

“I’m nobody except the person who has evidence of your child abuse.”

“I’m not a child.” Nathan snaps.

“Fuck off.” Nathan’s father says.

“No,” replies Simon determinedly. “You fuck off.”

Nathan whistles. “Was that your first curse word, Barry?” 

Simon grits his teeth. He had known coming out here that Nathan wasn’t an easy person.

“You need to leave.” he says to Nathan’s father. The man rolls his eyes and gets in his car. “Whatever.” he says, before driving away.

“Oh,” says Nathan, overly cheerful. “He’s leaving. What a massive surprise. Sure didn’t see that coming.”

“You need to get cleaned up.” says Simon. There is blood across Nathan’s lips, and he’s sure from the impact of the fight that Nathan’s torso will be littered with deep red bruises.

In the end they stop at a corner store for some basic medical supplies. Simon buys bandaids and a disinfectant cream for the cuts, and an icepack for the bruises. 

“I bet you’re just loving this.” Nathan says later, the comment is Nathan’s usual brand of callous, and yet the tone is, for once, soft. Not edged sharp and defensive. Simon continues to dab the cream into the cut by his lip carefully.

If he looks at them in the mirror, he can see thousands of Simon and Nathan’s reflected back at him. They’re in the bathroom, and mirrors line at least three of the walls. There’s something disconcerting about seeing himself that way, and something confusing in the way Nathan looks softer than usual, covered in blood and stripped of his usual frantic energy, he is sitting there trustingly, eyes shut as Simon tends his wounds.

Something has changed, and Simon does not know what has triggered it. Maybe Nathan is simply feeling vulnerable after the fight with his father. But it seems unlikely, in the time that Simon has known Nathan there is more evidence to support the idea that when threatened, Nathan puffs up like one of the puffing fish, making himself seem bigger and more invincible. Like a massive castle, surrounded by sturdy walls in vibrant colours.

After some time, Simon looks at his watch. “I have to go.” he says.

Nathan peers at him through slit eyes. “Simon, I’ll walk you home.” he replies. For once he uses Simon's actual name. This doesn't escape his notice.

“Why?” Simon asks seriously.

“Oh, don’t flatter yourself pervert. Mostly I want to check out your sister. How old is she now?”

“She’s still twelve.” Simon replies.

“Well. Our romance can wait for now. You can still walk with me.”

Simon thinks of refusing, thinks hard about it. In the end he only nods. He tries not to think of anything he shouldn’t, Nathan’s lips around his cock as Simon fucks his mouth bloody perhaps most pertinent. 

They don’t talk very much along the way, something that disconcerts Simon more than Nathan’s mouthing off ever has. 

When they arrive at Simon’s house, he turns to look at Nathan pointedly.

“What?” Nathan asks.

“This is my house.”

“So?”

“Goodbye.”

He walks into his house, locks the door, and tries not to feel too guilty, after all, he has just spent the better part of his afternoon pandering to Nathan’s insecurities. When he stares through the spy-hole out at Nathan, who kicks around a scrunched up coke can a few times before looking at the house once, assessing and then turns to leave. He jogs away, and soon Simon can’t see him.

“Do you like that boy?” comes a voice from behind him. Simon whirls around with a jerk. His sister Eliza is sitting on the stairs and watching him through the bannisters. 

“No.” he replies shortly.

Eliza grins. “You do.” 

“No I don’t.”

“Yes you do.”

Simon scowls. “Where’s Mum and Dad?” he asks.

Eliza rolls her eyes dramatically. “Where do you think?” 

Simon sighs. “Again? They didn’t tell me.” 

“Yeah, well. Duty calls. And so does money apparently.”

Simon’s parents like business trips. And the payment that comes with them. 

“Have you made dinner?” he asks.

“There’s leftover lasagna in the fridge.” she replies. “Also Lucy is coming over later. She has the first season of Skins on DVD.”

“That’s fine.” says Simon. “I’ll be in my room.”

“Thinking about that boy? I saw him through the window, he looked like--” Eliza says, there’s a small smile hiding in the corner of her mouth. Some of their family say it’s similar to his. Simon agrees, they have always looked alike. Same light eyes, same pale skin, same straight brown hair. The only difference perhaps, is in the way they carry themselves, Simon has always been solemn. Eliza is rather more chipper.

“--I’m not thinking about Nathan.” he interrupts. It’s a lie. He wants to re-watch some of the footage he has captured.

“Nathan!? Nathan Young? I know him. And I knew it.” she says triumphantly.

Simon pauses, fears, and resolves himself respectively. “How?” he asks suspiciously.

Eliza grins. “He used to go to my school. Until he flashed his arse on assembly and got expelled. He’s really cute, Simon. But you should know, most people think he’s crazy. Like fully unhinged. Zacharias Hemming, who is in my English class, said that Nathan Young once shat out a window on an excursion to Buckingham Palace, can you imagine!? What if the Queen saw him. Or Prince Harry!?”

“You talk a lot.” is all Simon says. “And stop swearing.”

Eliza screws up her face. “Don’t try and tell me what to do. You set someone’s house on fire, remember? I’m practically an angel for life.”

She’s not wrong. After the entire arson incident, Eliza’s relatively slight discrepancies have been treated with nothing more than mildly stern reprimands. Nothing like the groundings and the punishments that Simon had gone miserably along with at her age. Then again, he’d been sort of angelic back then too. He probably would have been in Nathan’s grade had he attended the local school as intended. Instead, his parents had put him through one year of home-schooling, before realising they didn’t possess the dedication, and then convincing him to attend a smaller, private school. 

They hadn’t liked the idea of their shy son mixing with the general public. The private school hadn’t been any better. The private school had led to a failed attempt at arson and then time in a mental ward. 

“Did he ever speak to you?” Simon asks.

“Who, Nathan Young?” she says his name the same way most people say the names of celebrities, as though they are invoking legend. 

“Yes.” he says. 

“Well,” Eliza says, tying her hair up in a messy bun. “One time, he ran straight through the art room. In the middle of a lesson. And he said ‘nice painting’, about that one I did, of the sea. It had Burnham standing in it.”

Simon remembers it vividly. If only because his mum had gone to great pains fobbing it off to some relative discreetly, without offending Eliza. Simon supposed it was difficult, to be handed such an accurate reminder of your first born, first dead son. 

Burnham had died in a car crash a few years ago. The drug tests had come back positive. Since then, any mention of illicit drugs, or their dead brother, had been a taboo on the house. In any case, it was why Simon refused to consume mind-altering substances.

The doorbell rings. “That’ll be Lucy.” Eliza says, jumping up and racing to the door. She opens it. Simon catches one glimpse of a short, braced, DVD wielding tween, and escapes to his bedroom for the night.

 

6

The next day, Simon walks out the door at six. Nathan is waiting for him.

“I know where you live now,” he boasts. “It’s like being shown to the lair of an especially perverted psychopath.”

Simon stares at him. And then his sister, who is upstairs, flings open her bedroom window and begins shouting down at them. “Is it true you shat out a window at Buckingham Palace?”

Nathan looks up in surprise, before crowing. “You better believe it, baby.”

If Simon frog-marches him the entire walk to the community centre, it’s because he’s absolutely well within his rights to let his sisters mind remain pure of Nathan’s particular brand of vile. 

7

It is the hottest day of the year, and they are all scraping graffiti, it is perhaps, one of the least desirable tasks they can be given. Apart from how boring, time-consuming, and tiring it is-- they must all deal with the utter futility of cleaning a wall that is sure to be re-vandalized in less than an hour after they finish.

“This,” declares Curtis. “Is such a waste of time.”

“Couldn’t agree more, brother.” says Nathan.

“I’m not your brother.” Curtis snipes. His disdain for Nathan is understandable, if grating.

“Don’t you two fockin start up again.” says Kelly, who is, thanks to her power, rather adept at understanding when situations are liable to escalate.

“I do what I want.” says Nathan, sliding his sunglass down over his eyes. He and Alisha are sunbathing again. Both of them are head to tow on the cement. Alisha in her heart shaped glasses and bikini. Nathan lying on top of his jumpsuit, only wearing underwear. His fair skin almost casts a glare. Simon wants to touch his tattoos, he focuses determinedly on the wall. Scrape. Slide. Thunk.

“Is it just me,” says Curtis waspishly, putting a hand over his eyes to block the sun. “Or should skinny fucking Irish over here, put some clothes on?”

No, Simon thinks. Kelly turns to stare at him quickly. He begins determinedly singing the alphabet in his head.

“It’s so bloody hot,” Nathan whines. “You think they’d provide us some sun cream, yeah? That way I wouldn’t have to steal it all the time.”

Curtis snorts.

“I say we rise up in rebellion, criminal solidarity, right? I don’t know about you lot, but there’s a sun out here for fucking once, and I don’t fancy letting it burn the skin off my wee pretty face.”

“Sun doesn’t bother me.” says Curtis, who is sweating through his jumpsuit but looks otherwise unbothered.

Nathan turns to him, and speaks imploringly. “That’s because you’re black, mate. Have some sympathy for those less fortunate.”

“God, shut up.” says Alisha, sitting up to cast an affronted look in Nathan’s direction.

“You could always just sit in the shade.” Simon suggests. No one is listening. It doesn’t matter anyway. If he can’t watch Nathan alone, then watching Nathan with Alisha is probably his second favourite substitute.

He likes to stare at her the same way he stares at Nathan sometimes. There is less guilt in it, because she is not such a magnificent arse-hole. Where Nathan is hard edges, Alisha is soft. Where Nathan is crude jokes, Alisha is sweet seduction. Both of them however, use cutting remarks to protect themselves. 

When they lie next to each other, sun-bathing, the way they are today-- it is very easy for Simon to get out his camera and focus on the way their hair curls. He got a shot once, of the two of them leaning towards each other gossiping. Their hair had sort of tangled and it had become difficult to define where Nathan’s began and Alisha’s ended. It had been beautiful. Like the rest of them. 

He thought, privately, that things would have been a lot easier had he preferred Alisha, even though he felt sort of dishonorable about it because of Curtis. Nathan, he had come to realise, did not become easier the longer you knew him.

“Pervert!” Nathan calls.

Simon looks up, and then curses himself.

“Oh my God!” Nathan yells delightedly. “He answers to pervert now.”

The others snicker at him for a time, he focuses on the paint. Scrape. Slide. Thunk.

Suddenly, Nathan is behind him, clinging to his back tightly, an arm around Simon’s neck. 

“What are you doing?” Simon asks crossly.

Nathan sticks his tongue in Simon’s ear. Simon pushes him away harshly and he falls to the ground. “What are you doing?” Simon yells. There is a sort of red hot anger building up in his gut, the type of anger he hasn’t felt in a long while. The type of anger he tries very hard not to let loose on the surface.

“Jesus,” says Nathan, there is an obliviously cheeky smile splitting his face. Simon can see a pale line were he had rubbed the cream in. “Chill out, man.”

“No,” says Simon. “You’re always so rude. Leave me alone.”

Nathan laughs out loud, sits up a bit, leaning on his elbows. “Cam down, mate.”

“No.” Simon repeats. “No.”

Kelly steps forward. “Simon, really, you need to calm down.”

She can see into his mind. He supposes she knows what she’s talking about. Simon no longer cares. He feels like burning. He is burning. “Say something.” Simon says, the words are clear and cold, he directs them at Nathan and prays for an apology of some sort. Nathan only laughs again. 

“God, such melodrama,” Nathan says sarcastically. “Barry.”

As soon as he hears that name, Simon is a little bit over it. Most days, it makes him feel okay, he can think of it almost as a nickname, something Nathan calls him because they are friends. Right now it seems like a reminder that they are not. So he leaves. 

Simon throws his scraper to the ground and strips out of his jumpsuit. He is wearing his usual dark pants and jumper underneath. He can hear Nathan calling out behind him, and Kelly yelling at Nathan in turn.

Simon ignores them all, pugging his head-phones in and walking quickly away, at one point, he thinks he hears Nathan following him, but he starts to run. Simon is fast, and soon the community centre, and Nathan, are utterly distant.

He finds himself in an upper class suburb, it has taller buildings, less decrepit and painted nicely. In front of one home, a pair of children play unsupervised. Cynically, Simon thinks of how easy it would be for a murderer to take them. Shame on the parents. He turns invisible and watches them for a while, pulling out his phone when they start to blow bubbles. He follows the bubbles into the sky with his camera, until they either pop or leave his eye-sight. It’s a beautiful shot. And he is reminded of life, the bubbles-- ephemeral, fragile, beautiful and so, so easy to break-- are a good symbol of it. 

He finds more beautiful things to film until he calms down-- ducks wandering across a pond, a dead butterfly-- wings distended and transparent where they have begun to rot or be eaten by ants, a girl looking through a shop window, not at the shoes in the window, but at another girl inside. 

When he arrives home, it is late. His watch reads eight. It’s dark and his sister has been alone in the house for hours. He opens the door with his key quietly, in case she is asleep, but pauses on the threshold when he hears laughter from the direction of the kitchen.

He follows the sound down the hall, and is unsurprised to see Nathan and his sister, but shocked to see them cooking. “What?” is all he says.

“Nathan Young is teaching me how to cook spaghetti bolognese. He says you’re an unrepentant wanker for leaving me home without dinner.”

For a moment, Simon cannot think of anything to say, and there is a tingle in the back of his spine, like he could go invisible at any moment. he shakes it off and stands a little straighter. “Why are you in my house?” he asks Nathan.

“It’s not your house.” corrects Eliza. “It’s Mum and Dads.”

Nathan grins. “You’ll be delighted to know that you sister is actually a cool human being. Nothing like you.”

Eliza grins happily and dips her finger into the sauce before licking it. “Not bad.” she says.

“Not bad!” Nathan exclaims indignantly. “I’m a fucking master chef, I’ll have you know. I bet my home and worldly possessions it’s the best thing I’ve tasted in a year.”

“You’ve been homeless for a year,” Simon points out, calling the bluff. He knows he playing into Nathan’s hands but can’t bring himself to care. “And the most substantial thing you’ve eaten since then have been Kelly’s chicken nuggets.”

Nathan grins. “They’re magical chicken nuggets though, like shit. Best fucking nuggets you’ll eat in your life. I don’t know what it is that she does between pulling them out of the box and putting them in the microwave, but it’s genius.”

“Hey, Nathan,” says Eliza. “The pasta’s all floppy like you said.”

“Time to get it out then.” Nathan replies.

Simon watches on in morbid fascination as his sister and his... Nathan, shuffle around the kitchen, serving up dinner. Simon gets some cutlery out to help, setting it on the table.

Much to Simon’s interest, Eliza and Nathan get on like a house on fire. Over dinner the conversation revolves largely around people they both know from their school. Simon can’t help the small part of him that is inordinately pleased about Nathan liking his sister and visa versa. It feels important.

“Really!?” Eliza says. “I heard she was completely off, but that’s mental.”

“She’s well twisted now.” Nathan agrees. 

 

After dinner Simon cleans the dishes methodically while Nathan talks shit, watching on from where he is perched on the bench top. Eliza has gone upstairs, she had winked at Simon before she had left.

“--and man, you should have seen it. Golden. Also we told the probation worker that you’d contracted an STD and that’s why you’d gone home. I think he bought it.”

Simon doesn’t reply.

“Come on, Barry. Why can’t we be friends again? I cooked you fabulous pasta--”

“And then ate half of it.” Simon points out.

“I hung out with your sister.”

“Because you’re an attention seeker.”

“Barry!? Come on, give me a break.”

Simon puts the dish down and turns. “No. And don’t call me Barry. My name is Simon.”

Nathan assesses him carefully. “I never call you Simon.”

Simon remembers a day not too long ago, a day when Nathan had been feeling vulnerable and had done just that. “Yes you do.” Simon says quietly. 

Nathan. “I call you a lot of things.”

Simon. “I know, Nathan.”

For once, Nathan is quiet. Simon steps closer. “You called me Simon a few days ago.”

Nathan shrugs and grins, but it looks insincere. There is a more serious expression in his eyes.  
Simon does not see Nathan serious very often. 

“You called me Simon. I liked it.”

“Don’t be gay.” Nathan says, finally speaking up with a lame attempt at a wise-crack. He’s off his game.

“I’m not gay.” says Simon. “I like beautiful people.”

“I am that.” Nathan agrees mildly. Simon steps forward, in between Nathan’s thighs, and puts his hands down on the bench either side of Nathan’s hips-- trapping him.

“And you like men.” Simon says matter of factly. “And you like me.”

“Who’s to say I like men?” Nathan asks vaguely, waving a hand. “If anyone in the group is liable to wax poetic about pussy, it’s me. Nathan Young, lady magnet extraordinaire, they all want the hair.”

“I’ve seen you.” says Simon. “I’ve followed you.”

“And that’s not fucking creepy at all.”

 Simon is confused. “I thought you knew.” he says. “From my phone.”

“Oh, shit. You’ve been videoing me? Pervert.”

“Shut up.” Simon says. “Call me Simon, or call me nothing."

“Alright, Nothing.” Nathan replies.

Simon eyes him intently. “You’re gay,” he says again. “And you like me.”

Nathan seems caught in his gaze for a moment, but he breaks eye contact and releases an easy laugh. “No.” 

He’s lying. “Yes you do. I’m observant you know. I see the way you look at me, it’s nice, until you open your mouth. And you always pay me attention, and when you realised a girl was paying attention to me you accused her of murdering you. You were jealous.”

“I wasn’t jealous, you ugly twat. I was worried about y--” he cuts himself off.

“You like me.” Simon says again. “You’re going to let me kiss you.”

Simon leans forward, and captures Nathan’s lips in his. It’s nothing like that first rushed snog, the one initiated by a tattoo-drunk Nathan. This is lovely, and warm, and real. 

Simon has never felt anything so real. Nathan, usually so sure and comfortable in his experience, seems to have forgotten what to do with his hands. They sit in his lap. Simon holds both of Nathan’s thin biceps in his. 

Nathan sucks lightly on Simon’s tongue, before Simon pulls it back and bites Nathan’s lip gently. The kiss ends, and both of them pull back. 

“Do you want to see my room?” Simon asks.

“Sure.” Nathan replies nonchalantly.

The mood changes as they walk upstairs, and so when both of them lie down on the bed, Simon doesn’t ask about the kiss. “Do you want to see some videos?” he asks.

Nathan shrugs. “If I’m in them.”

Simon rolls his eyes, nevertheless, he finds one of his best Nathan compilations.

It’s better than the one he gave Kelly. Much better. He slides it into the player and sits carefully beside Nathan, who is sprawled messy across the bed as though he owns it.

“There I am!” says Nathan excitedly. He laughs out loud. “I’m fucking hilarious. Like one of those under-rated comedians.”

The shot changes. “Oh my god,” says Nathan. “I deleted this!”

“When I finish filming, my settings have the file emailed to me just in case I lose my phone.”

Nathan on screen is leaning back against his chair on the roof of the community centre. Simon is stepping closer as he slides a hand down his body and into his jump-suit.

“Think I could start a career as a porn actor?” Nathan asks.

Yes, Simon thinks. “No.” he says.

“You wound me.”

Simon smiles minutely. 

“You’re lucky I’m so open. And a criminal. I’m almost sure this is a thousand types of illegal, you stalker.”

The shot changes, and Nathan is stumbling out of a club. An older man is following him carefully, with a tight grip on his wrist. 

The shot follows them into an alley-way, where Nathan gets down on his knees and sucks the man off.

“Such a lush,” the man grunts as he thrusts himself down Nathan’s throat. “Such a fucking lush. Fucking twink.”

“I’m not a fucking twink,” the Nathan beside him says as he watches the video. “The older ones always think that. Arse-holes.”

Simon doesn’t reply. 

“I’ve mentioned how fucking creepy these videos are, I’m sure.” Nathan says.

“Once or twice,” Simon replies dryly. “You like it.”

And he does. Simon is sure of it. Nathan loves attention the way a starved dog loves a meal.

The shot changes. And the video plays on. Gradually, Nathan moves closer to him, and Simon, who has wanted to a long time, puts a hand in his hair.

He plays with the curls while they watch, and rubs his fingers in Nathan’s scalp. Nathan shudders a little, almost imperceptibly. Simon notices, and looks down. Nathan is still watching the video, but his eyes are glassy and his cheeks are flushed. He looks like something Simon has dreamed up.

“Are you--” he stutters off. He’s watched enough porn to recognise arousal when he sees it. And he’s seen Nathan aroused enough times to know for sure.

Simon weighs his options for a moment, and the pauses the video. He rolls over so that he is on top of Nathan, and catches his wrists. Simon kisses his pale throat hard before letting go of Nathan’s wrists and carefully unbuttoning Nathan’s flannel shirt. Nathan shimmies his arms out of it. 

They kiss for a few more moments, and the Simon says. “I would like to fuck your throat, please.”

Nathan nods. And Simon does. It’s filthy and animal, making Nathan gag around his thrusts. But he goes on anyway. The pale column of Nathan’s throat strains a little, and when Simon looks down he can’t help but moan at how red and spit-slick Nathan’s lips are. He wishes that he had thought to set up a camera.

When he comes, it’s with his whole body. He slumps back against the head-board, tilting Nathan’s face up into a brutal kiss. When he slides a hand down to Nathan’s cock, it only takes a few strokes for him to come, sticky and sweet, too. "Simon." Nathan sighs, it's a breathy moan, and it's his name, and it's still so, so real.

“You like me.” Simon says afterwards. "And I like you, even thought I think you're a twat."

Nathan rolls over to look at him, there is dried come on his chin. “You’re not as completely shit as you could be.”

“Thanks.” says Simon dryly.

Nathan has always been lovely to look at. Now, maybe especially when he opens his mouth.

**Author's Note:**

> Thankyou for reading. Characters and setting do not belong to me.
> 
> Just rewatched all of Misfits until the end of the third season (where it ends in my eyes), such an under-rated show. Much love.


End file.
